


Prayers in Hallways

by Ranni



Category: Avengers, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner Feels, Bruce Banner Is Not That Kind Of Doctor, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Natasha Romanov, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Thor, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Character, Sick Clint Barton, Sick Natasha Romanov, Sick Tony Stark, Sickfic, Team as Family, Thor Is Not Stupid, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:19:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ranni/pseuds/Ranni
Summary: "Why is he acting like this?""It's the fever," Bruce assures him, but bites at his thumbnail the way he does when he is worried. "The blood test came back fine. I don't really know. I've told you guys a hundred times, I'm not that kind of doctor.""It hit so fast," Steve says. "I mean, this morning he was acting perfectly normal."Bruce just shakes his head and shrugs helplessly.-or-Shameless sick fic





	Prayers in Hallways

 

*******  
Clint returns from a Shield mission and debrief just in time to high five Natasha on her way out the door as she leaves for a mission of her own.

"See you later, loser," she calls over her shoulder. 

Clint grins at her retreating form. "God, isn't she  _great_?" 

Tony rolls his eyes. Their antics have long since ceased to amuse him.

"How did everything go?" Steve asks Clint as he flops down dramatically on the couch in the common room.

"Eh," he answers noncommittally. "It was mostly surveillance, so, you know, boring as all hell. It's nice to be home."

Tony waltzes over and slaps the archer's feet off the arm of the couch in lieu of a welcome back hug. "You look like crap, Tweetie Bird. Were they testing anthrax where you were?"

Clint laughs. "Shield is passing around a pretty wicked cold. I stayed in the barracks during the debrief, and it sounded like a tuberculosis ward."

"Well, thank you for bringing it here," Tony grumbles. "Feel free to do any suffering in the luxury of your own apartment, and keep your germs the hell away from me."

"No problem; I have a date with a shower and my bed." Clint pretends to sneeze on Tony as he walks past, grinning with delight at the rude gesture he receives in response.

*******

That afternoon Steve knocks on Clint's door. After long minutes it cracks open.

Clint looks sleepy and unwell, and holds his hand over his eyes to shield against the light of the hallway. "Whaddya want, Cap?"

Steve has come to see if Clint was interested in joining the rest of them for lunch, but dismisses the idea immediately upon seeing his friend's appearance. He looks far worse than he had that morning. "Wow, Clint, are you okay?"

"No." He leans his forehead against the doorframe and closes his eyes. "I feel like shit. My head is killing me."

"Go lay back down," Steve tells him. "JARVIS, please ask Bruce to come here. Tell him Clint is really sick."

"Oh, don't be such a drama queen," Clint says, and starts to roll his eyes, but stops with a groan and staggers a bit. Steve, alarmed, put his hands on Clint's shoulders to steady him, then raises one hand to the archer's forehead.

"You're burning up, come on." He pushes his way into the apartment and steers Clint in the direction of the couch. "Sit down. Have you taken anything for the headache?"

"No," Clint answers testily. "I've been busy sleeping." He bypasses the couch and stumbles into what Steve presumes is his bedroom.

Steve hesitates for a second, then follows him in. "Can I get you anything?"

Clint drops into bed with a groan and pulls the covers up to his neck. He buries his face into a pillow, then peeks one bleary eye out at Steve. "Actually, a drink of water would be great, if you don't mind."

"Of course not."

Steve is searching the kitchen cabinets for glasses when Bruce raps once sharply on the door. He comes in without waiting for an answer, Tony trailing in behind him. Bruce is carrying the medical bag he has cobbled together over time, and Tony is eating a bag of chips. Steve inclines his head toward Clint's room and they follow.

"Hey, man, how are you feeling?" Bruce flips on the lightswitch and pulls gently at Clint's shoulders, trying to get him to roll over.

"Bruce--" Clint starts to say, then flinches and throws an arm over his eyes when his face leaves the pillow. "Fuck, it's too bright!" He glares at Tony from beneath his elbow. "What are _you_  doing in here? This is great, by the way, how everyone has gathered to hang out in my bedroom."

"I was with Bruce when JARVIS called. I came for the Tweetie Show, but shall undoubtedly be compelled to stay for the stimulating conversation." Tony's voice is teasing, but he frowns as Clint grips the sides of his head and moans miserably. 

Bruce checks him over, asks about the cold going around Shield, and even talks Clint into letting him draw some blood. "You might want to get checked out by a real doctor, but all signs point to flu," he says finally. "There's not much to do but get lots of rest, I'm afraid."

"Wonderful," Clint answers glumly, and shivers as Steve helps him lay back down.

"Try to sleep awhile," the captain tells him. "We'll come back and check on you."

*******

Bruce and Steve are shocked, and more than little concerned, when they return two hours later and Clint's condition has deteriorated dramatically. His fever has climbed to 102 degrees and none of his answers are very coherent when they try to talk to him.

"Please can I have a drink of water?" Clint pleads for what seems like the hundredth time. He shifts restlessly on the bed as if it is made of nails and complains that everything hurts. He plucks repeatedly at the edge of his blanket in a strange, compulsive way.

Steve rises to refill the glass yet again, but Bruce puts a warning hand on his arm. "No, don't--he's drinking way too much."

Steve has never imagined there was such a thing as drinking too _much_ water, but defers to Bruce's wisdom on medical matters and sits back down.

"I need a _drink_ ," Clint repeats, loudly.

"You can have some more in a little while, okay?" Bruce offers soothingly. He tries to shine a light to look in Clint's eyes, but the other man keeps pushing his hands and the instrument away.

"Now, _please_." Clint turns to Steve, knowing, even in his delirium, that he is a softer touch than Bruce. "Please, Steve, I need a drink of water."

"No," Bruce says firmly.

Steve reaches out to sympathetically pat his friend's leg, but then draws his hand quickly away in surprise when Clint suddenly snarls "Don't paw at me, you fucking _bastard_!" His normally affable expression twists into something vicious, then just as suddenly his features relax and he goes back to the plaintive tone. "Please, I need a drink."

Steve looks at Bruce fearfully. "Are you sure this is the flu?" he asks. Clint groans and resumes the odd plucking behavior, moving from his blanket to his shirt, as if he is snapping the cloth repeatedly between his fingers. "Why is he acting like this?"

"It's the fever," Bruce assures him, but bites at his thumbnail the way he does when he is really worried. "The blood test came back fine, and all signs point to flu. But I don't really know. I've told you guys a hundred times that I'm _not_ that kind of doctor."

"It hit so fast," Steve says. "I mean, this morning when he came home he was acting perfectly normal."

Bruce just shakes his head and shrugs helplessly.

Clint falls asleep a few minutes later, so deeply that he does not stir even when Bruce retakes his temperature, which is high, and his blood pressure, which is low.

*******

Around dinnertime Thor and Tony replace Bruce and Steve in Clint's apartment. Everyone is too apprehensive to leave him alone again, even under the watchful eye of JARVIS. Clint remains asleep, so Tony just props the bedroom door open while he and Thor camp out on the couch to watch television and wait for him to wake up.

"This is one of my favorite programs," the Asgardian says. "The family has a large number of children, and the mother is often with child, or has just had a child. Her grown daughters are the same way. When Darcy and I watch this show we like to guess whether or not everyone is pregnant."

"It's like Schroedinger's uterus," Tony observes dryly. He sighs. "Reality shows are stupid."

"They are," Thor agrees, and settles in happily to watch.

One painful hour of television later Tony gets up to check on Clint, and panics for a moment when he finds the bedroom empty. His first thought is that Clint has disappeared up into the air vents, but then he hears a noise coming from the adjoining bathroom.

"Tweetie? You okay?" Tony knocks lightly on the door. There is no response, just the faint sound of running water. "Clint?" He tries the doorknob, relieved to find it unlocked. "I hope you're not naked in there, cause I'm coming in!'

He pushes the door open to discover Clint with his head in the sink, drinking frantically from the tap in huge gulps, his eyes bulging and wild.

"Clint, _Jesus_! What are you doing?? Stop that!" He tries to pull Clint away, wincing at the fever he can feel even through shirt sleeves, but the archer's hands grip the sides of the sink desperately. Even sick the man is damned strong. "Let go of that, stop, let go. We'll get you back to bed, huh? It's night-night time for all the good little birds."

"I'm thirsty," Clint gasps, struggling to hold on and straining his neck toward the faucet. "I'm thirsty."

Tony calls out for Thor, who comes on the run and wraps his arms around their friend's waist, pulling him away from the sink easily. Either from the pressure around his abdomen, or due to his illness, or because the rapid intake of water Clint starts vomiting violently. Thor doesn't bother trying to get him positioned over the toilet, but instead carries him swiftly into the walk-in shower, holding him carefully as Clint continues to throw up again and again.

"Is this normal?" Thor asks Tony. He runs his hand through Clint's sweaty hair as the man moans and continues to retch helplessly.

"No," Tony says tightly. "It isn't."

*******

Clint's fever hits 105 degrees in the middle of the night, and Bruce shoves ice packs around his neck and under his armpits while Tony calls for an ambulance. Steve leans over Clint's legs to pin them down and holds his hands tightly to keep him from hurting Bruce or tearing the ice packs away.

"Stop," Clint begs. "Why are you doing this? I don't even know what you want!"

Steve realizes Clint thinks he is being held captive; that they are his torturers. Steve's eyes meet Thor's, who gazes grimly back.

"Shhh, it's okay," Bruce murmurs frantically. "We're gonna get you to a hospital and you're going to be just fine."

"Natasha!" Clint cries, struggling desperately against Steve. "Natasha!" 

Tony comes back into the room, still gripping his phone. "They're on the way," he says, then takes in the scene, his eyes wide and frightened. "Oh my God. This is insane. What's _wrong_  with him?"

"He is dying," Thor says quietly.

"No, he _isn't_!" Bruce snaps back. "You don't know what you're talking about, Thor, so you shut the hell up. He'll be alright."

But his words ring hollow a minute later when Clint starts convulsing, and continues to do so even after the paramedics arrive.

*******

Bruce climbs in the ambulance after they load in Clint and it roars away, leaving a shellshocked Tony and Steve and Thor standing on the sidewalk. Tony notices for the first time that they are all barefoot, and Steve is wearing only boxers and a t-shirt, and gives a short, somewhat hysterical laugh. Steve shoots him a confused, annoyed look.

"We need to go in and change before we go; you don't want to defraud the medical staff with those sexy jammies, Cap," Tony says, and ushers them back inside the Tower.

Steve looks down at his clothes with a surprised "Oh!" as they pile into the elevator. "I should also contact Sitwell. Shield will need to know what's going on."

*******

"Christ," Sitwell swears over the phone. "I didn't even think of _Barton_ catching it; he's always with you guys and barely ever here anymore."

"What are you talking about?" Steve asks. They are piled in Tony's car--one of the few with extra leg room, though Thor is still rather cramped in the passenger seat--and the inventor is speeding as much as he dares. The only upside of it being three in the morning is that the traffic is pretty light.

"There's been an outbreak of bacterial meningitis at Shield."

"Oh my God," Steve says, ignoring Tony's sharp " _What_? What did he say?" from the driver's seat.

"Eighteen agents and staff personnel have caught it already. Some are in pretty bad condition. I can--"

Steve hangs up on Sitwell and fumbles, fingers shaking, to call Bruce.

*******

They are kept in the waiting room, and no one can tell them anything. Tony and Steve have almost worn a rut in the floor with their pacing by the time Bruce appears, looking exhausted and disheveled.

"At least I could tell them what to look for, after you called," Bruce says without preamble, spreading his hands helplessly. "They didn't waste a lot of time running the wrong tests. There's _that_ , at least."

"Come on, Bruce, how _is_ he?" Tony asks, desperate.

"It's not good." Bruce slumps into a chair and Thor puts an arm around him, his face solemn.

*******

A doctor hands the four of them each prescriptions for antibiotics, since they have all been exposed to meningitis. Steve, Bruce, and Thor take theirs without comment, not bothering to try to explain to the physician why it isn't really necessary.

Clint is admitted to the ICU and they will only let one person in at a time, so Steve tells them he will stay.

"You need to go get some sleep," he says to the others; they've been awake all night, and Tony and Bruce look physically and emotionally wrecked. They're unhappy about it, but agree to wait at the Tower for news. Steve drinks a final cup of waiting room coffee before steeling himself and heading for the intensive care unit.

*******

"Are you family?" a nurse there asks suspiciously.

Steve nods without a second thought. "I'm his brother."

She looks doubtful but lets him in anyway.

Steve holds his friend's hand, trying not to think about how hot and dry it feels. Clint thrashes around constantly on the bed, moaning or crying out nonsensical words, and doesn't seem to realize that anyone else is even there. Steve is sent out of the room two hours later while they put Clint on a ventilator and induce a medical coma to take some of the stress off his body.

It's the first time Steve admits to himself that his friend is probably going to die.

Steve waits in the hallway and prays, and only realizes he is doing it aloud when he notices one of the nurses watching him. He shrugs at her apologetically.

"It's okay," she assures him. "We'll take any help we can get."

*******

Steve finally goes home to sleep, and Thor arrives to take his place.

"Are you family?" a nurse with a clipboard asks him with a frown.

Thor has seen this in movies and on television--that sometimes only family can visit in hospitals. "I'm his brother," he says earnestly.

She peers at him over her reading glasses, eyes traveling up his nearly seven foot tall frame, and gives him a dark, skeptical look.

"I'm his...husband?" Thor tries, and gets the barest hint of a smirk in response. He gives her what he hopes is a winning smile, and it must work, because she lets him go back.

Barton is hooked up to tubes and wires and machines that make all kind of sounds, and to Thor's eyes it all looks barbaric and terrible. The nurse surprises him with a sympathetic pat to his arm and points to a chair. Thor perches upon it, uneasy, but ready to sit vigil for his friend.

"Clint," Thor says quietly. He places his large hand lightly, carefully, on the man's chest. "Live, Clint. _Live_."

*******

"How does this happen?" Tony demands of Fury and Sitwell, who sit rather glumly in the face of the team's anger. They look tired. "Aren't there vaccines for this?"

"There are," Fury agrees, "and we've had them. That's why only some of the staff is sick, instead of everyone. It's just bad luck."

"Local outbreaks like this aren't unknown on college campuses or military bases," Bruce says wearily. "At least we caught it pretty early. He could've bled out internally, gone into major organ failure. It didn't get that far. He'll be okay. He will. He'll make it." Bruce's misplaced guilt is obvious and hard for them to watch.

Tony grabs his hand, but his grip is a little too tight to be very comforting.

*******

The next night Clint's kidneys stop working and he is put on dialysis. The doctor says he hopes it is temporary, but then draws Steve aside.

"It's time to think about anyone else that you need to call," he says.

"Who do you mean?" Steve is confused. He's told Shield, and the team knows.

"I mean his family. To say goodbye," the doctor clarifies.

Steve just shakes his head. "He doesn't have anyone. Only us."

*******

Natasha returns from her mission, and Sitwell must have called her en route, because she bypasses her Shield debrief altogether and arrives at the Tower still in her uniform. "How is he?" she demands. " _Where_ is he?"

Tony drives her to the hospital, uncharacteristically quiet.

When they arrive the nurse frowns at Natasha, who is completely unimpressed and can return a dirty look better than anyone alive.

"Are you family?"

"I'm his sister. His wife. His goddamned mother. Whatever you need to write on your little paper, _do_ it, and let me the hell in there."

Her angry expression evaporates when she is at her best friend's side. She kisses his forehead and whispers "I'm here."

It is probably a coincidence, but that night Clint rallies, and the next day the doctor says he might live after all.

*******

He's in the hospital another six days, until he is finally stable enough to transfer to Shield Medical for an additional two weeks.

When he is finally discharged to go home he is still so weak that he doesn't even bother arguing when Thor carries him from the car all the way to bed. Natasha covers him up fussily, then climbs in next to him. Tony thinks for a moment, shrugs, and does the same.

Steve and Thor pull in chairs from the living room while Bruce stretches out on the foot of the bed with a book.

"What the hell?" Clint scowls at them. "Are you guys _seriously_ going to all sit here in my bedroom and watch me sleep?"

"You bet your ass," Tony tells him. "And no one is here to stop us, or demand to know whether or not we're family."

Clint smiles. "I already know that you are."

*******

_ Epilogue _

Several weeks after Clint comes home from the hospital he, Tony, and Natasha all catch a cold. There's a brief moment of terror, and Tony's personal doctor is summoned immediately for a house call. He assures everyone that it is just an ordinary cold, but Tony insists on blood tests for the three of them anyway, and the physician wisely does not argue.

Steve and Thor go out to gather some comfort food for lunch, and Bruce convinces everyone to pile into the living room, so he can keep an eye on them without running back and forth between three bedrooms. Natasha and Tony argue about what movie to watch while Clint curls up against Natasha and dozes.

"But this  _is_ a documentary," Tony insists.

"Oh please," she snarls back. "Just how stupid do you think I am?"

"Don't answer that," Bruce warns Tony quickly, handing out tissues.

Tony takes one and glares at Natasha. "All I'm saying is that I believe, and have for some time now, that the events of 'Gremlins' are not outside the bounds of real possibility."

"You believe in the Kremlin?" Clint asks remotely, only half awake. Bruce frowns and immediately puts a hand on Clint's forehead; the archer pulls away with a groan and closes his eyes. "Aww, knock it off, Bruce."

"Okay," Natasha announces. "Enough. As much as I enjoy being around Tony, I would much rather go die of this cold alone. Come on, Clint."

"I find it hilarious that your concept of 'alone'  _includes_ Clint. What does it all meeeeeeean?" Tony waves his hands dramatically.

"I'll leave that for you to puzzle out, genius. But don't wrack your brain too hard; you might squash the pea."

Tony huffs in irritation. "You'd better go, Hawkeye; your abuser is continuing her ongoing mission of isolating you from friends and family. If you ever decide that you've had enough, squeeze my hand, then blink three times and I'll know to call the police, okay?"

"Guys, _stop_ ," Bruce says wearily. "Come on, I'll get you two settled back in your apartments. And I'll check him over again, too," he adds quietly to Natasha, who nods.

Bruce shakes Clint's shoulder until the archer opens his eyes. "Bed. Sleep."

Clint mumbles something indecipherable and grouchy back, but lets Bruce pull him carefully to his feet. Clint's balance and strength have been slow to fully return. Usually he would balk at this sort of overly solicitous treatment, so the fact that doesn't protest when Bruce and Natasha each hold one of his arms while they walk to his room speaks volumes as to how lousy he still feels.

Steve and Thor are back about ten minutes later, arms full of soup and sandwiches. Steve blinks when he sees the empty couches, piled high with rumpled blankets, used kleenexes, and one grumpy Tony Stark. "Where did everybody go?"

"We watched 'Hunger Games' and Romanov decided the plot had merit. We all proceeded to fight to the death, and only I have survived to tell the tale."

"Yeah, okay. Soup?" Tony makes a face and Steve frowns. "You should really eat something."

"Alright, but you guys have to watch 'Gremlins' with me."

"Easily done." Steve puts the rest of the food on the counter while Thor hands Tony a styrofoam cup of chicken noodle soup and a plastic spoon. "Is Bruce with Clint and Nat?"

"Yeah, he's tucking them in bed, probably reading 'Goodnight Moon' or some shit." Tony fumbles with his soup; it is still warm and pretty good. He makes a happy noise and Thor smiles at him. "You guys are gonna love this movie."

"What is it about?" Thor asks.

"Animals. Christmas. The enduring bonds of friendship and family. It, uh, won the academy award for best picture the year it came out."

"That does sound good," Steve says approvingly.

He pushes a wadded up blanket aside, and sits down next to Tony. Thor lounges in his favorite chair, stretching out his long legs and inspecting his sandwich. Soon enough Bruce comes back, rolls his eyes good naturedly at the movie selection, and plunks down on the couch on Tony's other side.

"How are the spy kids?"

"Snug in their beds. Or _bed_ , since Natasha didn't want to leave Clint alone. The poor bastard is in pretty bad shape." The other three men shoot him alarmed looks, and Bruce hastily clarifies, "He's okay; it really is just a cold. He's still so weak, though. It's not fair that he got sick again."

"Yeah, but that's the old classic Tweetie luck at work." Tony remains resolutely in sarcastic mode, which feels much more familiar and safe than the worry and fear that had consumed him for the last month. "You know, Clint and Natasha are so codependent that it truly, truly disturbs me. But I am man enough to admit that sometimes I'm a little jealous of that level of devotion. I mean, it's grotesque, but...admirable."

"It is," Bruce agrees, and his smile is a little wistful.

"Wouldn't it be nice to have someone take care of _us_ like that when we're sick, fellas?" Tony asks, slurping his soup showily.

"Yeah, it would be," Steve answers, rolling his eyes at Bruce and Thor, and pulls Tony's blanket up a little.

"Oh," Tony says in surprise. "Yeah."

And smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Back when I was a younger Ranni my college campus had an meningitis outbreak. Thankfully no one died. Some forms of meningitis it can be misdiagnosed as flu, progress rapidly, and kill people in less than 24 hours. Get vaccinated, ya'll.


End file.
